


Cocks Fan

by Ann_Drist



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alcohol, Awkward Jack Zimmerman, Baking, Double Entendre, Eric Bittle is more Southern than your Memaw, Fluff, Food, Humor, I'd like to double your entendre, Junior year, M/M, One-Shot, Ransom and Holster play gay chicken in the background, Sitcom, Slapstick, Slice of Life, The Haus, When you play gay chicken everybody wins, short one-shot, wacky misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 15:56:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8020066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ann_Drist/pseuds/Ann_Drist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bittle's attire causes a bit of a stir in the Haus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cocks Fan

A nice pair of khakis and a linen shirt hung off the back of Bittle’s door, pressed to perfection. 

Downstairs, he sported old shorts and a T-shirt for the final phase of party prep.

Pitchers of Tipsy Arnold Palmers chilled in the fridge next to a platter of pimento cheese and crudities. More savory snacks were set out on the counter.

Now the only thing left was the strawberry tartlets. 

Bittle was leaning over and peeking through the oven door to see if the crusts were golden brown yet when he heard a whoop behind him. 

“Aww yeah, looks like Bits is gonna have fun at the party tonight!” Ransom grinned.

“Dudes will prolly be fighting over him,” said Holster. “Nice, it’s about time.”

Bittle wiped his brow and smiled. “What?” He looked at the counter of baked goods. “Mama always jokes that Coach married her for her baking, but I swear I’m not trying to catch a man with all this.” 

“No, bro, looks like you’re trying to catch a man with _this_.” Holster swatted his butt. 

Bittle blinked. 

“I’m telling you, if I was into dudes, I’d hit that, absolutely.” 

“Ransy-poo, are you saying I wouldn’t be your first choice?” 

“ _You_ put on a pair of booty shorts that say “cocks” in block letters across your ass, then maybe I’ll reconsider.” 

Bittle blinked. “Oh my goodness, I’m not wearing these old things to the party.” 

“You’re not? Dude, guys would be into it.” 

Bittle frowned as he took the tartlets out. “Why? Are any Cocks fans coming tonight?” 

Holster dissolved into snort-laughter. 

Ransom winked. “I hope so, Bits. I hope so.” 

Bittle didn’t mind being chirped, he just didn’t understand what on earth Ransom and Holster were going on about. He huffed out a sigh and bent over to put the last tray of tartlets in Betsy II. When he straightened up, he noticed Jack standing behind him.

“B-b-bitty. Y-your, um. What—why are you—where did you—”

“Damn, son. Even Jack thinks they’re hot.” 

Bitty flushed. “I don’t see what the gosh-darned deal is. Why in tarnation are you all so fixed on my shorts?” 

Jack turned bright pink and stared at the ground. 

“Bro, you’re wearing shorts that say ‘cocks’,” said Holster.

“Actually, he’s wearing shorts that say ‘COCKS’!” Ransom specified. 

Bittle rolled his eyes and set the oven timer. “My team is Georgia, but my Cousin Bubba went to USC, so I root for them, too.” 

“Uhhh, bro, USC’s mascot is the Trojans?” Holster said.

Ransom giggled. “Cocks. Trojans.” 

Bittle crossed his arms. “Y’all never heard of the Carolina Gamecocks?” 

“Is that like a southern strip club?” Ransom asked.

“No! The other USC—University of South Carolina. They’re the Fighting Gamecocks.” 

Ransom and Holster tilted their heads at Bittle. Jack was still staring at the floor. 

“Their mascot is a gamecock? A big burgundy rooster named Cocky?” 

Holster made a strangled sound. 

Ransom blinked. “I have literally never heard of them.”

“Yeah, well they don’t have a hockey team, so I’m not surprised. And it’s not like their football team is that great.” Bittle frowned. “Wait, if you all didn’t know which team the Cocks are, why were you giving me a hard time for wearing their fan gear?” 

Hostler gestured at his crotch. “Bittle. _Cocks_.” 

Ransom held out the waistband of his shorts and pointed. “As in _cocks_.” 

Jack put his head in his hands. “Oh my God.” 

Bittle gaped at them. “Oh my word! You filthy-minded heathens. Where I come from, a cock just means a boy chicken!” 

Ransom and Holster held each other up so they wouldn’t fall to the floor laughing. 

Bittle’s cheeks were pink, but he managed to give all three of them a withering look. “I expect this kind of nonsense from them, but I am disappointed in you.” Bitty took off his apron and handed it to Jack. “When the timer goes off, will you take out the last of the mini-tarts?” 

Jack nodded. “Bittle—”

“I’m going to go change.”

 

After the tarts were safely out of the oven, Jack went upstairs and knocked on Bittle’s door. 

“Bitty, I’m sorry. You know I don’t follow American football—”

“Oh my word, I can’t believe you still call it American football—”

“Bitty! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to tease or embarrass you, but ‘Carolina Gamecocks’ honestly sounded like a strip club or something, not a college mascot.” 

Bittle shoved him, but he was smiling. “I had no idea I was dating someone with such a filthy mind.” 

Jack flushed at Bittle’s admonishing yet flirtatious tone. “So you’re not mad?” 

Bittle took Jack’s hands. “No, I’m not mad.” 

What started as a chaste make-up kiss quickly escalated. The next thing Bittle knew, Jack was pressing him down on the bed and whispering, “We have some time before the party starts.” 

Bittle smiled. “Don’t you wrinkle my party clothes.” 

“Mmm.” Jack kissed him again and his voice lowered. “If you’re really worried about them getting messed up, you could always change back into those shorts.” 

Bittle gave him a sour look. “Are you really telling me that you like the idea of me being some tarted-up dancer?” 

Jack flushed and averted his eyes. 

Bittle’s mouth dropped open. “Oh my goodness, you do.” 

“Wha—no! I just—you’re a good dancer—uh, and, you always look good in shorts—even ones without stuff written across your—um. But I don’t wanna make you feel uncomfortable—forget I said anything.”

“Jack Laurent Zimmerman, if you think I’m going to get up and put on those shorts that you like because of a filthy double-entendre, and then dance around for you just because you have some kind of pervy fantasy, you have got another thing coming.” 

Jack bowed his head. “You’re right. Sorry.” 

Bittle sighed dramatically. “I’d have to make a _playlist_ first, obviously. And it’s really something we should do at your place so we have more privacy.” 

“Y-yeah?” 

“Maybe.” Bittle winked. “I’ll think about it.” He booped him on the nose and strutteddownstairs. 

Jack sat there in a daze until guests started arriving. Ransom had to drag him downstairs so he wouldn’t miss the party. 

 

 

Epilogue: 

 

Late into the night, after all the guests had left, everyone in the Haus was asleep except Bitty and Holster. 

A faint glow lit Bitty’s face as he added “Partition” to his “Secret Surprise Playlist.” 

Up in the attic, Holster pushed his glasses up his nose and peered at his laptop screen. If he kept scrolling through eBay, he was bound to find a pair of those “COCKS” shorts in his size…

**Author's Note:**

> Hand to God, these shorts really do exist. (You can Google it if you don't believe me, but I recommend you turn on safe search first.)
> 
> Everything I wrote about the University of South Carolina Gamecocks (Cocks for short) is 100% true. Including their mascot Cocky. 
> 
> Ahem, so yeah, if you've ever wanted to yell "Go Cocks!" or "I love the Cocks!" or "I’m a huge fan of the Cocks!” without being shushed or judged, tune in to a Carolina Gamecocks game sometime. (No hockey, but lots of other choices.)


End file.
